


Blame It All On My Roots

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Series: Wächter der Dunkelheit [2]
Category: Charmed (TV 1998)
Genre: Darklighters, Deutsch | German, F/M, Song: Friends in Low Places (Garth Brooks), wedding crashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: Damon decides to take a cue fromtheultimate country drinking song and crash the wedding of one of his "charges". It goes about as well as could be expected.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Wächter der Dunkelheit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880272





	Blame It All On My Roots

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a crack post on my RP blog [here](https://schwarzerengeltm.tumblr.com/post/624042300267446272/schwarzerengeltm-friends-in-low-places-by).

_Blame it all on my roots.  
__I showed up in boots  
__And ruined your black-tie affair.  
__The last one to know, the last one to show,_  
_I was the last one you thought you’d see there._  
~ Garth Brooks, “Friends in Low Places”

Bright lights, smiling faces, music, laughter, the hum of conversation. It all wove around Lily Tremont nee Taelor as she basked in the glow of her wedding reception on the arm of her new husband, Justin, as she waited for their turn to dance.

The floor cleared, the music changed, and Justin led her onto the floor in a waltz. She felt herself relax into the three-four rhythm, grinned as they turned in a circle. Her pale green eyes scanned the crowd as they turned—and for a flash she thought she saw a familiar face—one she hadn’t seen in two months.

One that shouldn’t be here.

Before she knew it, the song and dance were over, and she was back to socializing with friends and other wedding guests. Justin had grabbed a couple glasses of champagne, handed one to her.

Conversation faded, stilled. All she could hear was the faint roar of blood in her ears when her eyes settled on the face she’d thought she’d seen earlier.

_Him._

Damon Wolf.

The lead singer in a local industrial rock band, she’d met him two months ago for one night when he’d had a gig at P3, one of San Francisco’s major nightclubs, and her girl friends had invited her along. Now, as he made his way through the crowd toward her, Lily found she couldn’t stop staring. A long-sleeved white dress shirt and black vest, black jeans clung easily to his lean six-foot-one frame like a second skin. Thin sideburns, wild spiky black hair, silver labret and a thin stripe of hair on his chin. Hazel eyes that changed color between brown, gray, and blue depending on the lighting or his mood…

He looked like he’d walked right out of the Wild West circa 1880 or something, black cowboy boots included. And on him, that look was dangerously handsome. Sexy, even.

She felt a kick in her stomach as he stepped right beside her and her new husband; saw the surprise and fear in Justin’s eyes when Damon took his glass of champagne.

“Lillian.” Damon nodded at her, raised the glass in a toast. “Prost.” An involuntary shiver ran down her spine at the sound of his voice, with its soft northern German accent—Lower Saxony, she thought she remembered him saying.

“What are you doing here, Damon?” she asked, forcing herself to sound cool. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

“You didn’t. I merely came to offer my congratulations.” His smile—and God, he had an amazing smile, with straight white teeth—didn’t quite reach his eyes, which had drifted down to her abdomen before moving back up to her face. “And to tell you, meine Blume, that we may be through, but you’ll never hear me complain.”

She swallowed, felt the blood drain from her face at the confusion, then suspicion in Justin’s brown eyes. “Lily? What’s he talking about?” Her husband moved next to her, wrapped one comforting arm around her shoulders, and glared at the other man.

“You never told him?” Damon’s smile now was wolfish, his eyes flicking between the newlyweds. There was a strange glint in his hazel eyes—it was impossible for her now to tell what color they were—that Lillian couldn’t read. Her hand instinctively moved to cover her abdomen, to protect the small two-month-old fetus growing inside. In seven months, she and Justin would be welcoming _their_ child into the world, and Lily refused to let anyone spoil that for her, for them.

She lifted her chin, pale green eyes holding Damon’s defiantly, her platinum blonde hair swinging free in waves past her shoulders. “Told him what?”

“Lily.” Though there was a malicious glint in his eyes, Damon’s touch was gentle as he brushed a hand across her cheek. „Noch in seinen Armen lächelst du mir zu, und wohin das fuhren wird, weißt auch du.“

She’d taken German in high school, remembered just enough to catch the gist of what he’d said—though listening to his band’s songs helped, since his lyrics were in both English and German. ‘Still in his arms, you’re smiling at me, and where this will lead, you know, too.’

“Or,” Damon continued, “to say it another way and help your memory…” He’d moved in front of her. His voice lifted to a soft croon: „ _Weißt du noch, wie wir erbebten, als wir zwei im Tanze schwebten?_ _Du brauchst mich. Ja, du brauchst mich_.“ (She stepped back, shaking her head in denial, ignoring the flash memories of his skin against hers, his breath warm on her ear.) „ _Gib doch zu, dass du mich mehr liebst als den Mann an deiner Seite. Auch wenn du ihm scheinbar mehr gibst, du ziehst ihn in die Nacht_.“

The glass in his hand had vanished at some point, she suddenly realized, as had the one Justin had handed her. Odd thing to focus on, when she had her husband right next to her and a darkly sexy, arrogant European rocker in front of her with both of them touching her.

_You need me. Yes, you need me,_ he’d crooned—and she hated how her body reacted at the sound of his voice, hated that it was true.

“Lily?” Justin’s voice was tight with tension. “What’s he saying?”

“Nothing,” she said, holding Damon’s gaze with a cool, indifferent stare. “Cut the bullshit, Damon. What are you _really_ doing here?”

“Like I said, I came to congratulate you on the wedding and… other things.” He looked perfectly innocent now, but there was something about that pause, about the way he’d been looking at her earlier, like he _knew_ , that had dread curling suddenly in the pit of her stomach and suspicion forming in the back of her mind.

No. It couldn’t be.

Damon shrugged, suddenly smiled. “And to tell you that you’ll never hear me complain about meeting you because I have friends in _very_ low places.” There was a strange gleam in his eyes then, as if he was silently laughing at a private joke. “You know, where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases the blues away. Just give me an hour and then I’ll be as high as the ivory tower that you’re living in.” He stepped back. “But first…” He beckoned to her with a hooked finger. „Darf ich diesen Tanz haben?”

He was up to something. Or there was something he wasn’t telling her. Or both. Lily knew that as she stepped forward to accept his hand, let him lead her away from Justin and pull her into a slow dance against him—her back to his front. There was something disquietingly intimate about their position even before his hands slid down her sides, waist, hips, and one covered her abdomen. Before she felt his mouth brush feather-light over her skin, then skim just below her ear.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” His voice was low, soft—for her ears alone. Lily hated the tremor that raced down her spine, and she felt a _very_ strong urge to push him away.

But more than that, the dread and suspicion she’d felt earlier returned full-force. She swallowed. “Know what?”

“Lillian.” He sounded amused. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

She fell silent. Let him keep talking, confirm what some part of her mind already suspected. Besides, her mouth was too dry for her to answer him anyway.

“You know as well as I do that it’s _my_ unborn child growing inside you right now.”

And there it was.

Anger at his smug tone chased away the dread, had her breaking away and turning to face him. “You _bastard_!” she hissed, hands coming up to shove _hard_ at his chest. He stumbled back, caught himself, wariness flaring for a split-second in his eyes.

“I believe you meant ‘ _your_ bastard’, because the child is mine.” In the second that followed, he looked _way_ too pleased with himself for making that pun in English. It simply made Lily want to wipe the smug expression off his face.

Preferably with her fist.

She lunged, but he was no longer there.

_Wha—?_

Lily didn’t have time to finish the thought before Justin was there, his arms around her, pulling her to him. She didn’t think, just curled into him while he glared at Damon over her head.

After a second, two, when she’d calmed down enough, she turned her head to send the German a death glare. If looks could kill, he would have incinerated on the spot. She hoped.

“What’s going on?” Her husband’s voice was cool, steely, the way he got when he was furious yet somehow managing to keep cool—and _that_ was scarier than if he started outright yelling.

Damon, to her complete and utter disbelief and _frustration_ , was grinning a Cheshire grin. “I just told your wife some news she didn’t like, is all. Ask her about it. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just say good-night and show myself to the door. Never meant to cause a scene, and all that.”

Lily almost snorted aloud at that. _Yeah, right._

Then what he’d said penetrated through the dim haze of red, and she tensed. Oh no. No. He did _not_ get to drop _that_ bombshell on her, land it for her to sort out (like _hell_ she was going to tell Justin that the child she was carrying wasn’t his), and then _leave._

On second thought… if he left now, she wouldn’t have to see or deal with him again. Ever.

_Hmmm. That’s a bonus._

Damon was already turning, moving through the crowd… but she never saw him reach the exit.

One second he was there, the next… he was gone.

She blinked, confused; turned back to the safety of her husband’s embrace.

“You’re not going to tell me what that was about or who that was, are you?” Justin asked.

“Believe me, it’s better you don’t know.”

If she had her way, he never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Not that this matters to anyone, but I was sort of picturing along the lines of David Henrie as Justin's faceclaim and Damon's outfit as the one Dero wears in the music video for "Die Schlinge".
> 
> The lines that Damon quotes („Noch in seinen Armen lächelst du mir zu, und wohin das fuhren wird, weißt auch du." and „Weißt du noch, wie wir erbebten, als wir zwei im Tanze schwebten? Du brauchst mich. Ja, du brauchst mich. Gib doch zu, dass du mich mehr liebst als den Mann an deiner Seite. Auch wenn du ihm scheinbar mehr gibst, du ziehst ihn in die Nacht.") are from the German-language musical _Elisabeth_ ("Der letzte Tanz" and "Die Schatten werden länger", respectively).
> 
> Credit for the "I believe you meant ' _your_ bastard', because the child is mine." line goes to a friend of mine, who suggested it as a response and it sounded exactly like something my muse would say.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> \- Prost! = Cheers!
> 
> \- meine Blume = my flower
> 
> \- Noch in seinen Armen lächelst du mir zu, und wohin das fuhren wird, weißt auch du. = Still in his arms, you're smiling at me, and where this will lead, you know, too.
> 
> \- Weißt du noch, wie wir erbebten, als wir zwei im Tanze schwebten? = Do you remember how we shivered as we two floated in dance?
> 
> \- Du brauchst mich. Ja, du brauchst mich. = You need me. Yes, you need me.
> 
> \- Gib doch zu, dass du mich mehr liebst als den Mann an deiner Seite. Auch wenn du ihm scheinbar mehr gibst, du ziehst ihn in die Nacht. = Just admit that you love me more than the man at your side. Although you seemingly give him more, you're pulling him into the night.
> 
> \- Darf ich diesen Tanz haben? = May I have this dance?


End file.
